Till It's Gone
by quietandsneaky
Summary: John wishes one too many times that Sam was more like Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.**

John struggled to get out of bed. The headache pounded, and even the dim light in the room was blazing brightly. Every muscle in his body ached, and by the time he was focused enough to stand up and head to the kitchen, he knew that the pain he was feeling didn't have everything to do with drowning himself in Jack Daniels' the night before.

It was Thanksgiving. He'd come home from a hunt to find that Sam had used the grocery money he'd left to buy a small Thanksgiving meal. A turkey, some mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, peas, and corn. It was actually pretty amazing, a fifteen-year-old kid trying to put all that off by himself. But when John had seen the small feast on the table, he'd lost it.

"We don't have the money for this, Samuel!"

"I know we don't. That's the reason I was working at Mrs. Bailey's so much." Sam had answered.

"The money needs to last, Sam. And the time it's going to take you to prepare all this can be used for training."

And so had begun yet another vicious round of _I want a normal life_ on Sam's end and _training and saving lives are more important than normal_ on John's. As always, Dean had stayed out of it, much to Sam's immense frustration. The fight soon devolved into more serious, hurtful words. John had seriously considered throwing away the food to teach Sam a lesson, only stopping himself when he realized that wasting food was exactly what he was trying to stop Sam from doing.

The eternal John Winchester problem reared its head again. He wanted to say _Sammy it's an amazing idea. I wish we could. But we just don't have the money. You need to train, not spend all day cooking._ But the look on Sam's face was just too much to bear. He'd worked so hard on it, tried so hard to have his little slice of normal, and in came John, again, stamping all over it. It had been his little inner voice of _way to stomp all over the kid's dreams AGAIN, father of the year_ that had caused the patience he wanted to have to evaporate instantly.

"Sam, put the food away. We'll cook the turkey tomorrow, and we'll be eating it a little at a time over the next few days. That's an order." 

"I don't get it, Dad. I worked for this. I put it together. You didn't spend a thing, you don't have to do any of the work. So why can't we do this?" Sam shouted.

"Because I said so, Sam!" John shouted right back. He then went for the one barb he knew Sam couldn't stand. "Why can't you be more like your brother and just listen for once?"

"Because, for the fiftieth time, I am not Dean!"

"Well, it'd be a hell of a lot better if you were!" John had yelled.

The fight had immediately stopped. Any ounce of defiance or resistance had drained out of Sam, leaving only a defeated, hurt, disappointed boy in his place. John started to apologize, but he knew Sam too well. When Sam was hurt, he held grudges and was very unforgiving. But John knew at that point he had crossed a serious line. Dean had broken his precious neutrality rule when it came to Sam and John's arguments and was crossing the kitchen to comfort his little brother.

"I'll put it up, Dad." Sam had said quietly.

"Fine." John had said. He'd ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Look, if you want, we'll go out somewhere tomorrow. Wherever you want, anywhere that's open."

"Sure, sir."

"Dad, go ahead. I'll help Sam with the mess."

John had left, half reluctantly and half eagerly. He'd wanted this to be over and done with. He knew he was a bastard for taking this from Sam. But he was worried. Worried that if he let the boy have a taste of normal like that, that he'd be all the more stubborn and obstinate when it came to wanting more. John had believed he had to make Sam see it, even if it made the boy thoroughly miserable. Normal would only lead to pain. The sooner he would accept the life they were living, the less painful it would be.

John stood up and started towards the kitchen when he noticed something on top of his duffel bag. It was an envelope, written in Dean's customary messy scrawl. On the front was marked Dad. John opened it up quickly. The last time he'd found a note like this, Sam had run away from home.

 _Dad,_

 _Look, I know you're not crazy about the whole Thanksgiving thing. And I know your arguments. That Sam needs to accept his life as it is. I get that, Dad, I really really do. But you haven't been here this last week. Sam's really picked up on his training. He's doing so much better, and he's making a much better effort. He actually trained three times this week without me having to remind him. He did all his chores too, worked for Mrs. Bailey, and came home from school on time every single day._

 _I know what you're thinking, Dad. I'm covering for him, trying to get you to change your mind. But I'm not. It surprised me too. I even asked Sam one day why he was working so hard to follow all your rules. He told me about the dinner, and said he was hoping that if he followed all the rules without complaining for a while, that maybe you'd be happy enough to let him have his moment of normalcy._

 _I talked to Sam, Dad. Told him all about why it wasn't a good idea to do normal stuff like Thanksgiving. But he said something that stopped me in my tracks. Think about this, Dad, and please don't think Sam or me is trying to make you mad. Just think about it for a second. You and me have all these memories of mom. We remember what 'normal' was, and why we're fighting so hard to keep it. Sam doesn't have those memories. He asked me to please try and convince you to show him why we fight so hard to preserve that for everyone else. He doesn't understand why we can both have years of normal, but he can't even have two hours._

 _Dad, please. I'm begging you. I know Sam argued with you last night. Please reconsider. If you won't do it for him, do it for me. Let him have this. Let him be happy for a little while. Show him, even if you don't believe it, that he does deserve that normalcy, even if he maybe can't ever have it. Why it's worth us giving it up so other people can have it. Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you, just like always. But please just think about it._

 _-D_

"Damn it." John muttered to himself. He looked up towards the sky and said, "Mary, I'm sorry. I'm sorry he's hurting so badly. But I'll try and fix at least a little of it today."

John placed the letter inside his duffel and headed out towards the kitchen. He heard a pair of feet walking around. They were much too light to be Sam's. Sam tended to stomp around after they'd had a fight. John sighed; better to tell Dean first that he was going to do it, he supposed. He walked in to find Dean eating a bowl of cereal at the table. That was when he heard it. The sound of a toilet flushing. Sam was in the bathroom.

"Hey, Ace."

"Hey, Dad." Dean said. "Hey, I was wondering, you care if me and Sammy go out somewhere today?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I got your note…"

"Morning, Dad."

John instantaneously pulled his gun and aimed it at the kitchen doorway. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dad? What's going on?" Dean asked, standing up from the table and putting his arms in the air too. "What are you doing?"

"I said who the hell are you?" John shouted. "You got three seconds to answer me."

"Dad, what the hell are you doing?" Dean asked. "That's Sammy."

"Excuse me? That is not your brother, Dean. Can't you see that?" John said. Another thought occurred to him, and the question he shouted next drew _has dad finally lost it?_ stares from both of them. "How do I know you're the real Dean?"

Because standing in the doorway to the kitchen was not Sammy. It was Dean's identical twin.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dad are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. What the hell is going on?"

"Why don't you tell us?" The other Dean, the one John still didn't believe was Sam, asked. "You're the one that seems to have lost it."

"Lost it?" John asked, his fury growing by the second. "I'm still not entirely convinced either of you are my boys. What are you? Shifters?"

"Dad, no!"

"Then you won't mind if I make sure." John said, pulling out the silver knife he kept in his pocket.

Both Deans looked at each other, shrugged, and pulled up their sleeves.

After nicking both of them with the blade, John muttered to himself, "What in the hell?"

"Dad? You want to go to Bobby's or something?" one of the Deans asked. At this point, John couldn't tell which one was supposed to be which. "You're kinda freaking us both out here."

"Just…just stop talking. Both of you." John said. He grasped the side of his head with both of his hands. "I'm still drunk. That's all this is. I'm still drunk."

"Dad…?"

"Stop calling me that!" John shouted.

One Dean flinched, and the other stood looking torn between following John's orders and restraining him until he could call Bobby. John realized that to get anywhere right then, he was going to have to calm down. So he took a deep breath and looked out at the two Deans in front of him.

"Boys, look. I'm okay. But something _is_ wrong here. Very wrong."

"What, Dad?"

"First off, and I know this sounds crazy, but I want you guys to trust me." John said. "Do you?"

"Yes, sir." Both said at the same time.

"Okay. I'm going to ask some questions, and I need you guys to just answer them for me. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Again, both spoke at the same time.

"Alright, first of all, please don't do that again." John said, faking a smile to try and put the two of them at ease. "First question. What are your names?"

Both Deans looked at each other.

"Boys, just trust me. What are your names?"

"Dean Michael Winchester." One Dean said.

"Samuel William Winchester."

"Okay. How do I normally tell you guys apart?" John asked.

"Sammy has a birthmark right under his eye."

John looked to the Dean that was standing further away from him. Sure enough, just under the right eye, was a thin red birthmark, just visible enough to see. _Did the real Sam had one there too?_ John wondered. Now that he had a basis to go on, he felt more relaxed. "Okay, Dean. I like your idea. Let's get to Bobby's. He can help us figure this out." John waited a moment, then realized what he was waiting on. _Sammy to ask a question. A question that's not coming._ "I have a few more questions. What are your birthdays?"

"January 24, 1979."

"Both of you?" John asked.

"Yeah, Dad." Dean answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We're twins."

"Since when?" John asked, exasperated.

"Um, since birth." Sam said.

"Okay. Of course. Right." John sighed, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere now. "Alright. Pack up, boys. We leave in thirty."

"Dad, we're already packed."

"What?"

"We're already packed, Dad. We always are." Sam said.

"Okay." John said. _Definitely not my Sam._ "Alright. Give me ten minutes and we'll go."

"Yes, sir."

The two boys walked down the hall, grabbed their bags in their rooms, and were waiting for John on the couch when he came out. John had spent the ten minutes in his room looking for any indication at all that the Sam he knew still existed. He couldn't find a single photograph, a book, a note, anything. Somehow, someway, the Sam he knew had vanished.

The ride to Bobby's was a pleasant enough one. The two boys teased each other, but mostly talked with their father about things he was only half listening to. Finally, around fifty miles away from Bobby's, Sam pointed something out from the front seat.

"Dad?"

"What?" John asked.

"Um, I know we're not very far from Bobby's, but could we stop? Neither of us has eaten since breakfast this morning."

"What are you talking about? It's only…" John was shocked to learn that it was almost three in the afternoon. "Sorry, boys. Yeah, we'll stop."

"Thanks, Dad. I could use a bathroom too." Dean said.

"Why didn't you two say something earlier?" John asked.

"You just seemed really preoccupied. We didn't want to bother you."

John's thoughts of the lost Sam immediately turned to guilt. _The real Sam would've been bitching two hours ago about being hungry,_ he thought. "Let's find a diner, guys. How about that?"

"Sure, Dad." Both boys said together.

Pulling into the diner, John realized how hungry he actually was. Another thought occurred to him, a painful one that caused his stomach to twist. _If you'd stopped being such a damn jerk, you could've been starting on Sam's Thanksgiving by now._ As John pulled in, he looked over at the Sam in the car that had replaced the one he knew. He seemed slightly quieter than Dean, but otherwise seemed to follow his father's every word.

 _Everything you used to wish the real Sam would do._

And suddenly, the answer came to him with the force of a hurricane. He had wished that Sam would be more like Dean, not only the night before, but many other times out loud and in his head. His 'wish' had come true. He'd suspected it was something supernatural before, but now he had no doubt. When the boys exited the car, John remained behind for a moment.

"I'm coming, Sammy. I'll get you back, and I'll make it all up to you. I swear."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Been having big issues with this chapter. Grrr. I had to make a couple corrections and the site was being buggy and wouldn't post the corrections. So I took it down and reposted a couple times. If anyone got a bunch of different emails about a new chapter being posted, sorry about that.**

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about, Johnny?" 

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I know how it sounds, Bobby."

"It sounds like you've lost your damn mind." Bobby said plainly.

"No kidding."

Bobby took a bottle off the shelf next to him and poured a drink. "Look, this sounds crazy. Even for us crazy."

"Bobby, I _know._ I get it, okay? But listen to me. Yesterday, I had two kids. Sam and Dean…"

"You got two kids named Sam and Dean…"

"I don't have twins, Bobby! Sam and Dean are four years apart!" John said, for what felt like the hundredth time since he arrived.

"Alright, alright. First things first. What was Sammy's birthday again? The Sammy that you know?"

"May 2, 1983." John replied.

"Okay. First thing, let's se if we can find any births of a baby boy named Samuel on that day. Agreed?"

"Agreed." John said.

"But let's start tomorrow. You're beat, and so are your kids. Get some sleep."

John couldn't deny it was true. He'd sent the boys to bed a couple of hours earlier, even though it had only been eight o'clock. He'd been mildly surprised when both simply responded 'yes, sir' and walked up the stairs. But instead of feeling pleased, all he felt was a painful, empty ache. Was he actually missing Sam's arguing? Bobby headed up to his room, leaving John downstairs to sleep. But sleep was a long way off, because a memory was forming that fought to escape.

" _Daddy!"_

 _John walked in, ragged and aching from the rough hunt. He'd wanted so badly to get home to his boys that he'd driven straight through for twelve hours to get there. A rare smile glimpsed his face when five-year-old Sammy came bursting out of Bobby's house and running towards him. John threw open the door just in time for Sammy to jump into his lap._

" _Daddy! Daddy! You came back!"_

" _Of course I came back, Sammy. I'll always come back for you."_

But that hadn't always been true. John had missed birthdays, school functions, nightmares, Christmases, Sammy's first school dance, and more things than he could remember. Over time, the admiration Sam had held for John in his early days had started to wane, and the fights had steadily increased. Not just in volume, but in severity.

"Sammy, I'm so sorry, buddy. I love you and I'm so sorry."

"John Winchester."

John jumped, taken totally by surprise with the visitor. "Who the hell…?" He stopped when he recognized the visitor. The witch that he'd been hunting before coming home to find Sam's planned Thanksgiving. "You."

"Yes, John Winchester, me." The witch stepped forward a few paces away from John and observed the room. "Tell me, have you discovered your surprise yet?"

"You mean other than the fact that I ganked you before I came home?"

"You did kill me, yes. But you see, some witches, some very special witches such as myself, can still cast spells as a spirit." she said with a grin.

"Luckily for me, I know what to do with spirits."

"Get rid of me and you have no hope of getting your son back." The witch said.

"Where is he? Is he alright?"

"He is safe. That is all I will tell you." The witch said. "Assuming you want him back, I will tell you how to do so."

"How about I just send you back to hell where you belong?"

"Do that and you'll never see your boy again."

John hesitated. Should he trust the witch? Was he willing to risk Sam's life on trusting her? Was he willing to risk Sam's life on _not_ trusting her? One thing was sure-he wanted Sam back.

"What do I have to do?"

The witch smiled. "You simply have to live." 

"Live?"

"Live with the son that you wished for in order to get back the son that you had."

"No way. I want Sam back now." John said.

"Patience is a virtue you should practice more often, John."

"It's not in me." John said. "I want my son. Now."

"No." The witch said simply. "You'll get him back when you've truly learned to love what it is you have."

"What does that mean? I love Sam now."

"Do you?" The witch asked. "Do you love Sam as he is? Or as you wish him to be?"

John was never given a chance to answer. The witch disappeared, and all John was left with was a hole in his heart. There was a stinging truth to the words. John had never been exactly appreciative of Sam. He tended to focus on the negatives. Sam's attitude towards hunting. The way he never seemed to have a good, or even neutral, word towards his father.

 _Like you ever have one towards him._

"Dad?"

John jumped. The new Sam was standing in the entrance.

"You okay, sir?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." John lied. "Go on back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay." Sam answered, though he was clearly still unsure. "Good night, Dad."

"Good night."

Whoever this new Sam was, he was clearly only interested in pleasing his Dad. When John offered Sam a smile, intending it to be reassuring, he felt nothing but guilt when Sam looked confused. As Sam turned and walked up the stairs back to his room, John shook his head. This looked like his world, but it didn't feel like it. As John shook his head to clear it and attempt to get some sleep, a new problem occurred to him. The witch had said that to get his real son Sam back, he had to live with the new Sam. But she hadn't said how long.

What if he got attached to this new Sam?


	4. Chapter 4

_Three Months Later_

 _Somewhere On the Road to Jackson, Mississipi_

That stupid song was playing again. Before John could reach over and turn it off, that line, the one he'd come to despise, blared through the speakers.

"Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got till it's gone, they paved paradise, and put up a parking lot."

"Dad, can I change it, please?" Dean asked from the passenger seat next to him.

"Please do." John replied.

As Dean fiddled with the radio, trying to find a rock station, John took a look in the backseat. Three months later, it still jarred him to see a virtually identical copy to Dean. John had been cautious in the time since he'd been thrown into what felt like a very bizarre yet realistic dream. He had talked to this new Sam, trying to get to know him. He'd expected to find a copy of Dean in personality as well as looks, but the opposite was the case. Sam was a straight A student. He was quiet, passive, and easygoing. He always had a book in his hand, though the majority of the time it was a lore book. The six hunts they'd all been on together, he'd proved himself a master of research. He knew what they were fighting, how to fight it, and the safest way to fight it before John and Dean even had a grasp on what they were looking for. He seemed to also like the same types of books, movies, music, and food that the old Sam did.

There were differences though. Some subtle, some not so subtle. The first thing John noticed was the lack of teasing between the brothers. When John was around, they were hardly ever bickering, playfully or otherwise. They would talk, but it was cordial, more the level of acquaintances than the best friends they'd been before. John wondered if they were closer than they appeared when he was around. He hoped so, because the thought that he might have destroyed the relationship Dean had with his brother through his stupid wish broke John's heart.

Sam _never_ argued. He did what John told him to, when John told him to do it, and never offered a single protest. At first, John hated to admit it, it was a nice change of pace. But after a week, he found himself doing things that would've annoyed the old Sam in hopes to spark some kind of argument. It was, in a word, boring. John would deliberately get exactly the same thing for dinner for a week in a row. He would interrupt Sam during one of the rare times he was relaxing to tell him to do random chores or training. Run a mile before dinner. Sweep the floor, then do it again. Go to bed an hour and a half early, for no reason whatsoever. Tell Sam he could go to a museum with some friends, promise him that he could go, then change his mind as Sam was walking out the door. Sam never complained once. Not one time did he give an eye roll, refuse to do it, try to bargain out of it, or yell that it was unfair.

And it pissed John off.

Because with the loss of the argumentative, stubborn, pigheaded Sam came the loss of the amazing, compassionate, sensitive Sam. The one who, even at fifteen, would sometimes randomly come to his father and hug him around the waist for no reason at all. The one who would tell John, in the increasingly rare moments of peace and calm between them, that he loved him and hoped that John never doubted that. The one who deserved the world, knew he deserved the world, and only wanted two things-his father's love and approval, and the chance to step away from the ugly things in the world and enjoy the good things too.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sam?" John asked, fighting the mistiness in his eyes.

"You asked me to remind you when we'd gone four hours without stopping."

"Oh. Right." John said. "You guys ready for something to eat?"

"Sure. Burgers?" Dean suggested.

John had an idea, something he had never done too much before. "Sam? Where do you want to go?"

"Me?" Sam asked. "You never asked me that before."

"Well, I'm asking now. Come on. Dean and I always choose. You pick a place. Wherever you want." 

"Well, there's an Italian place near here. Can we try that?" Sam asked.

"Where is it?"

"It's, um…." Sam suddenly clammed up. "It's okay, Dad. Never mind."

"Where is it, Sam?"

"We passed it ten miles ago." Sam said quietly.

John immediately knew the reason for Sam going quiet. Money had always been scarce, and the idea of turning around when they didn't have to and spending money on something other than cheap fast food or diner food often made John impatient or snappy, which would end up setting the tone for the rest of the night. Sam would snap right back, and before long, the two of them would be yelling back and forth at each other.

 _Break the cycle_ , John thought to himself. _Break the cycle, and maybe, just maybe, you get the real Sam back._

"You want to climb up front and navigate for me?"

Sam and Dean both looked stunned. "Really, Dad?" Sam asked, his voice quiet with disbelief.

"Really. Come on up."

They doubled back, Dean lightly objecting to the choice of dinner that night. John simply told him that it wouldn't hurt him to do something different, and that he might even like what he gets. As they pulled up to the restaurant, John found himself for the first time in months laughing with the two of them. He turned the key to turn the car off and grabbed the door handle, only to be stopped by Dean.

"Dad, can Sam and I ask you something?"

"Sure."

The two boys looked at each other, and Sam was the first one to speak up. "Why don't you call us by our names anymore?"

"What?" John asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You never call us Dean or Sam anymore. You don't call us by our nicknames, or even call us 'son' anymore. You just leave orders and if you need one of us specifically, you just point at us." Sam said. "Did we do something wrong? Did we make you mad or something?"

John swallowed. It hadn't been consciously that he'd done it, but it made sense. Because the boys in front of him _weren't_ his Sam or his Dean. They were good boys, but they weren't his kids. After realizing a week after the witches' visit that he wasn't get Sammy back on his own, and he wasn't going to convince either of the boys or Bobby that there was a different Sam somewhere out there, he'd simply told them that it had been a curse from a witch that made him think all that and that he'd been cured. The boys had seemed to buy it, and life had gone on like normal. At least for them.

"Dad, does it have to do with that witches' curse? The one that had you thinking that you had a different son?"

"Sort of. I stretched the truth a little when I told you I'd been cured." John said. He spoke slowly, since he was improvising. "I did realize the truth, that you boys were my kids, but I still have memories of me and that other Sammy. I wasn't…I wasn't really very nice to him a lot of the time, and it just feels so real."

"Are you afraid that's gonna happen with us?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." John said, grateful to have an answer. "Yeah, I am."

"Don't worry, Dad. We're not exactly the Bradys', but you're doing the best you can. I know that."

"You don't think I'm too hard on you two?"

"Maybe a little. Sometimes." Sam said honestly. "But I get it. I really do. I've never really been mad at you for it."

 _Damn it,_ John thought. _Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why do you have to be everything I thought I wanted? Why?_

"Thanks, son. Thank you. I mean that. And please just be patience with me. Okay? I promise things'll be back to normal." Both boys nodded eagerly, and John couldn't stand the wait anymore. "Let's go in. Let's talk about this werewolf we're going after."


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Dad?" 

"Yeah, bud?" John asked.

"Thanks for letting me pick dinner tonight."

John looked over at Sam, who was still smiling after their unusually nice dinner. "Sam, you already thanked me three times, buddy."

"I know. It just feels good. Feeling like I can contribute."

John frowned. Was the curse beginning to break? The Sam here was becoming more comfortable talking to him. He didn't seem so nervous around him anymore. John put down the newspaper he was reading and turned around to face Sam. The shower started in the bathroom, and John was relieved; he found it easier to talk to the boys one at a time.

"Sam? If I ask you a question, do you promise to tell me the truth?"

"Of course I will, Dad." Sam said.

"Do you feel like I don't appreciate you?" John asked.

Sam squirmed and looked away.

"Sam, it's okay. I won't get mad. I just….I need to know."

"Why?" Sam asked. "Why now?"

 _So I can know what to do differently when I finally get my real son back._ "Please just trust me, son. Do you feel like I don't appreciate you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you feel that way all the time?" John asked.

"Most of the time, yes, sir."

"Sam, why do you say yes, sir to me all the time?" John asked. "I appreciate it, I really do. But when we're just talking like this, it's okay to say yes or no."

"When did you change your mind on that?" Sam asked.

"Change my mind?"

"Yeah. Anytime we forget, you usually give us a big, long speech about respect." Sam said. "I didn't want to disappoint you anymore, so I just started answering everything that way."

 _Are me and the real Sam finally talking? Is this how my Sam sees himself? As a disappointment? Was I so busy keeping him in line that I stopped noticing him?_

"Dad, look. I don't want to make you feel bad…"

"You're not, Sammy. I asked. It's okay." John said. "I just want you to know. You can talk to me about stuff that doesn't have to do with hunting. I don't want you to feel like you can't. I know our whole life's pretty much hunting twenty-four seven, but it is okay to ask me if we can do stuff you like to do too. I can't always promise we can do it, but I'll try my best."

"Thanks, Dad." Sam said. "That means a lot."

"You're welcome."

"Can I make my first request?" Sam asked.

"Sure."

"Well, there's an American history museum that just opened up about twenty miles from here. They've got an exhibit I'd really like to see." Sam said. "It's free to the public, so…"

"How long is it open?" John asked.

"A week."

John nodded. "Assuming we get the hunt done in time, we'll go."

"Thanks, Dad." Sam said.

The smile that Sam gave hurt. Physically hurt. Was it really this easy to make his own Sam that happy? Taking him places he'd enjoy between hunts? Had it been this easy the entire time?

"You're welcome. And if for whatever reason we don't finish the hunt in time to make it, there's American history museums all over the country. We'll find one and go. Deal?"

"Deal." Sam said.

"One more thing. I've got an assignment for you. I need you to take it as seriously as you do your hunting research."

"What do you need, Dad?" Sam asked seriously.

"I want you to make a list. A list of stuff you've always wanted to do but we either never did or you were too afraid to ask. When we get a little time, I'll look at it and we'll work out a plan to do at least some of it."

Sam smiled all over again, and finally, it happened. He got up from the bed, walked over to John's, sat next to him, and threw both arms around John's neck. It was the first real hug he'd gotten from either Sam in a long time. Even thought it was artificial, to John it felt amazing.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"You're the best." Sam said.

 _Where the hell are the onions in here, damn it?_ John thought as he embraced Sam. The shower in the bathroom stopped, and John patted Sam's back.

"Why don't you get in the shower behind your brother?" John suggested. "We've got a hunt tomorrow, need you sharp."

"Yes, s-yes, Dad." Sam said, his eyes searching for approval.

John winked. "But keep the list a secret between us, okay? I don't want to make your brother jealous."

"Yes, sir." Sam said.

When Sam had gone into the bathroom, and Dena was back in the room, John realized he had a new problem. He'd gone and done exactly what he'd always told Sam not to do. _Damn it, John, you stupid idiot. You're attached to the kid._ The bathroom door opened and Sam poked his head out.

"Hey, Dad? I know we don't say it too much, but I love you."

With a heavy heart, John answered honestly, "I love you too, kiddo."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sam is injured in this chapter. Please remember that I'm not a doctor, so don't expect perfect accuracy.**

Blood had never been a problem for John. He'd been to Vietnam and back, gotten injured himself and watched friends get injured. He'd even seen Dean and on occasion Sam be injured. For him, blood was just a fact of life. Something to be cleaned up and forgotten about after it happened.

Not this time.

The werewolf hadn't been a werewolf. It was a vampire, who was ripping hearts out of his victims to throw off any potential hunters who might come after him. John had actually been pretty impressed; the ruse had obviously worked. The vampire had been working that way for quite a long while. As bad as it was that they'd gone into a vampire fight prepared for a werewolf, things had started to get _really_ bad after that.

John saw Sam, just out of the eyeline of the vampire, signal to his father that he was going back to the car to get the machete and sneak up behind the vampire. John hadn't been happy with the plan, but shaking his head would have given Sam's position away. John distracted the vampire, and soon enough he saw Sam coming back towards them. Then came the second surprise of the night.

The vampire wasn't alone.

As Sam's arm was in the air to take the kill shot on the vampire, John saw him lower it and, worst of all, heard him scream. Dean grabbed the machete, quickly beheaded both vampires, and ran to Sam. John started to double check that the vampires were both dead, when Dean let out the second scream of the night.

"DAD! GET OVER HERE!"

Sam was on the ground, propped up by a tree, holding his arm to his chest. John saw the blood that was soaking his shirt, and heard Dean trying to coax Sam into letting him examine his wound.

"What happened?"

Sam was shaking his head. He was pale and had looked like he wanted to throw up. Then he saw it. The second machete on the ground. Something underneath the blade. When he saw what it was, John felt sick himself.

The second vampire had cut off Sam's hand.

John jumped into action. He called 911 and guided the paramedics to them. He picked up Sam's hand and held it in the bag. When the paramedics told John and Dean that there was only room for one of them in the chopper, John started to reflexively tell Dean to get in. He was shocked when Sam practically screamed at the two of them.

"NO! Dad, please, please come."

"Alright, son. Alright." John dug in his pockets and handed the keys to the Impala to Dean. "Dean, drive straight to the hospital. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The ride to the hospital was one of the longest of John's life. Sam passed out from shock ten minutes into the ride, but he went quiet long before that. John wasn't sure what was worse-when Sam had been awake and terrified, or when he suddenly went completely quiet. When they landed at the hospital, Sam was immediately rushed into emergency surgery, and the really bad part began. 

The waiting.

They'd been there for eight hours when the doctor finally came out. John and Dean had talked to the police already, who were surprisingly willing to believe that they'd been attacked by two 'crazy people who'd attacked them with machetes', and that John and Dean had overpowered and killed the both of them after they'd cut off Sam's hand. For the moment, it seemed, they didn't need to worry about the police. Which only freed them both up to worry more about Sam.

"Sam Ellis?"

John stood up and noticed immediately that the doctor didn't look happy. "Where's my son?"

"He's on his way to recovery." the doctor said.

So Sam was alive. John breathed a sigh of relief. "How is he?"

"Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we were able to reattach Sam's hand."

"What's the bad news?" Dean asked from next to John.

"Although we were able to reattach it, there's still no way to tell if he'll be able to use it again."


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you mean he may never use it again?"

"We were able to physically reattach the hand to Sam's arm. But a lot of the nerve endings were damaged. We won't be able to tell until he wakes up whether or not there's any function in it."

"And if there's not?" Dean asked.

"If there's no function at all, we have two main options. Sam can learn to live without the hand, which is entirely possible. Or we can surgically amputate it, then have him fitted for a prosthetic."

"Attaching it just so you can take it off again?" John asked. "That's cruel."

"I know it seems that way, but the best thing we can do right now is hope for the best. Wait for Sam to wake up and see where it goes from there."

John nodded. "You're right. Thanks, Doctor. Can we go see Sam now?"

"Sure. Right this way."

While blood had never really unsettled John, sterile hospital rooms had. The sound of heart monitors. The sight of doctors everywhere that held your life in their hands, and could take it away with a single mistake. The way hospital beds tended to make whoever was in them look smaller. Just like they were doing with Sam right now. His hand was wrapped tightly in a bandage. He looked like a little boy, sleeping after getting hurt. Dean made his way towards the bed, pulling up one of the chairs in the room. As he did, John realized something that troubled him.

For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about Sammy. The real Sammy, the one he'd been longing to get back. He was thinking about this Sammy, the one on the bed that was hurt and scared and may never be the same again.

What the hell was happening to him?

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Dean."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Dean asked.

John looked over at Dean, who seemed nearly as young and small as his brother. "Yes, Dean. He's going to be okay."

"Can you stay, Dad? Please? Just for a while?"

"Dean, I'm not going anywhere." John said. "Why would you think I was?"

"You just…you don't usually stay for stuff like this." Dean said. "You usually drop us off, call uncle Bobby or pastor Jim, then head off on another hunt."

John started to protest, but realized Dean was right. Had this been the Sammy that he knew, he would no doubt have felt so guilty that he would've looked for another hunt right away. Watching Sam suffer because of the life he'd put him into was always too much for John, but watching him go through something like this-John believed it would well and truly crush his soul for the final time.

But he wanted to get back home. As much as he loved this Sam, it was a pale comparison to the love he felt for his own Sam. He wanted that Sam back, and he wanted him back desperately. Now that he was thinking about him again, and not distracted by vampires or blood or a forcefully amputated hand, the ache for Sam was real and strong. But he couldn't be there right now. He had to be here, and he had to remind himself of the way to get Sam back. _Break the cycle_ , John thought. _Break the cycle and you get Sam back._

Hopefully.

"I won't leave, Dean. Not without the both of you."

"Even if..." Dean asked.

"No matter how long it takes, Dean. I'll be here. I swear." John said. "Even if it means no hunts."

John could see the doubt in Dean's face, and it hurt. It hurt to his core. But Dean nodded, accepting his dad's promise at face value. Dean took another look at Sam, took his other hand, and said after another few seconds,

"He's gonna wake up scared."

"Scared of what?" John asked.

"That you'll be angry at him. That you'll yell at him for this." Dean said. "That you'll be disappointed."

John sighed. Another conversation he'd had many times with Sam. _Break the cycle,_ he reminded himself. "I'll be honest, Dean. At first, yes, I was angry. But at myself, and at that vampire. Not either of you."

"Dad, this isn't your fault."

"It is, Dean. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about it, but it is my fault. When you boys get hurt, especially doing something in this life, it is my fault." John said. "And I also know you want to try and convince me otherwise. Don't, Dean. That's an order."

"Yes, sir."

"Look, I'm going to get some breakfast. Stay here with your brother in case he wakes up." John said.

"Yes, sir." Dean repeated.

"And Dean? I meant it. Everything'll be okay."

"I hope you're right, Dad. I really do."


	8. Chapter 8

Sam had been sleeping for close to four hours since his surgery, and hadn't so much as moved. Bobby had made it to the hospital, and Jim was on the way. John had gently ordered Dean to eat his breakfast when he protested, but otherwise had focused on assuring Dean over and over that Sam would be okay and that he wasn't going anywhere.

Finally, the moment came. All three men were sitting next to the bed. Dean and Bobby flipped through TV channels and argued about the best away to kill a wraith. The sound was faint at first, and John only caught it because he was sitting closest to Sam. A groan, then Sam's eyes fluttered open slowly.

"Hey, Sammy."

John's greeting caught Dean and Bobby's attention.

"Sam!" Dean said, smiling for the first time since the entire ordeal had started.

"Hey, kiddo. How you feeling?" Bobby asked.

"Little dizzy." Sam said.

"Dean, go get the doctor. Tell them Sam's awake."

"Yes, sir." Dean said. "Sam, you're gonna be okay."

Dean turned and went out to the hallway. Sam picked up his hand and noticed the bandage on it almost right away. He stared at it as if it was something he'd never seen before. His still somewhat drugged brain was telling him that he _hadn't_ seen it before, and therefore it didn't belong. Then the memory hit him with the force of a gunshot. Being in the woods, arm up to behead the vampire that was planning to kill Dad, only to fail when…

"Sam? You okay?"

"I'm sorry, Dad." Sam said.

"Sorry for what?"

"It was stupid. Going to the car…" 

"Sam. Stop." John took the chair back again and sat across from Sam. "Look at me."

Sam lifted his eyes to his dad's, fully expecting to find disappointment there. But all he saw was regret, sadness, and concern.

"Sam, I am not disappointed in you. I am not mad at you, I am not upset. The only thing I feel right now is pride." When Sam shook his head in disbelief and turned away, John refused to let him. "Samuel Winchester, look at me. Now."

Sam turned back, not wanting to believe that this was true. He'd screwed up too badly, gotten himself hurt when he shouldn't have been. There's no way his dad was proud of him.

Was he? 

"Sam, I am proud of you. That was one of the bravest things I've ever seen in my life."

"Yeah. Real brave." Sam said bitterly, lifting his hand up slightly.

"It was, Sam. It was. Now I told your brother, and I'm telling you. I will not be leaving this hospital until you're walking out with me. Okay?"

"You mean it?" Sam asked. "You mean it, really? Even if a hunt comes up?"

"No hunts. Not until you're better. Understand?"

"Understand." Sam said.

He took another look at his hand. John could tell Sam wanted to say something, but before he did, the doctor was walking in with Dean. "Well, Sam, I see you're awake."

"Who are you?"

"I'm your doctor. I'm doctor Miller. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"A little woozy." Sam said.

"That's from the anesthesia. That's normal." Dr. Miller said.

"Doc, what's gonna happen with my hand?" Sam asked. "Am I gonna be okay?"

"Well, we're gonna wait a few more hours to take the bandage off. Then all we can really do is wait and see how it goes. You may get as much as complete, one hundred percent function back in that hand. Or, more likely, you'll have limited function and you'll have to learn to do some things differently."

"I may?" Sam asked. "You're saying there's a chance I may not be able to use my hand again?"

"There's a possibility, yes." Dr. Miller said. "I won't lie to you, Sam. You've got a long road ahead of you. But there's options, okay?"

"Like what?"

"We'll talk about that more later, Sam." John said. "Let's just see how it goes for the next few days." 

"Like what?" Sam repeated, the first time John had seen a glimmer of the real Sam's defiance in him. It faded away almost instantly, turning to fear. "Dad, please. Tell me."

 _Break the cycle,_ John reminded himself again. With the real Sam he would have ordered him to put an end to the conversation, possibly leading to yet another argument.

"Dr. Miller, could we have some privacy, please?"

"Sure. I'm on duty until nine tonight. After that, my colleague Dr. Prescott will be here. He's fully aware of Sam's case and will be around to answer any questions if I'm not here."

"Thanks." John said sincerely. Dr. Miller was the first doctor he'd felt comfortable with in a long while. When he was gone, John turned back to Sam. "Sam, one of the options if you don't get any function back in your hand, is to amputate it again and be fitted for a prosthetic."

"Cut it off _again_?" Sam asked. "No!"

"Sam, stop. Listen to me. That is a long way away. We're gonna see what happens first."

"What do you think I should do, Dad?" Sam asked. "If my hand won't work again?"

"That's not my call, Sam. It's yours. But if and when we get to that bridge, me, Dean, and Bobby will be right here to cross it with you. Right, guys?"

"Damn straight." Bobby said.

"Right." Dean affirmed.

Sam took a shaky breath. "I'm scared, you guys. Really scared."

 _Me too, kid. Me too._ John thought. He heard the real Sam in the back of his mind, telling him he was scared of monsters in the closet at age nine. _I'm scared, Dad._ He did at this moment, with the fake Sam, what he should have done with the real one.

"I know, son. I know you're scared. But I'm right here. And I'm not leaving you. Okay?"

"Okay, Dad."

 _Two Months Later_

Sam sat at Bobby's kitchen table, going over and over his physical therapy exercises. He hadn't needed the surgery, but getting any function back at all required hours of strenuous therapy that, much to his frustration, sometimes left him with tears. He'd been horrified the first time his father found him crying from the pain, expecting John to ream him for being a baby and order him to do some other sort of physical training, only to be left surprised when John just hugged him and told him that it would eventually pass and that he'd be okay. Sam didn't know where his new dad was coming from, but he hoped he stayed.

The family had moved in with Bobby after Sam had been released from the hospital. John had kept his word, not only at the hospital, but after they'd gone to Bobby's too. He'd only gone on one hunt, a local one that took less than two days, and he'd agonized over even going on that one. Sam had, after seeing how hard his dad had worked at keeping his promise, gladly told his dad to go on. Dean tried to be supportive too, in the form of light teasing and banter. Bobby made sure Sam kept up with his exercises, and encouraged him to stay in school when the bullying from the other kids got to be too much.

Finally, it happened. Sam's goal had been to grasp a coffee mug filled with water and hold it in the air for fifteen seconds without pain. The morning that it finally happened, he wept with joy, dried his face, then called the rest of the family into the kitchen for a 'surprise that'll knock your socks off'. John, Bobby, and Dean all stood in front of the kitchen sink and watched as Sam grasped the handle of the mug, lifted it, and held it there for close to twenty seconds.

"I did it." Sam said. When no one said anything, Sam grew worried; did they not care how big this was? How huge? Or, possibly worse, did they not realize? "Dad? Dean? Bobby?"

John laughed in amazement. "You did it, bud. You did. I'm so proud of you."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

"Good job, little bro." Dean said.

"I'm four minutes younger than you!" Sam argued, though he smiled as he said it.

"How about we go out to celebrate?" Bobby suggested. "Anywhere you want, Sam."

"What about school?" Sam asked.

"One day won't kill you." John said. "Come on, anywhere you want."

Happy as John was that Sam was better, he couldn't help but notice the date. May 1st. The day before his real son's birthday. After all the years he'd been accused of forgetting, it was at the forefront of his mind now. And he couldn't celebrate it this time.

"Let's go, bud."

"Hey, Dad?" Sam asked when Dean and Bobby went upstairs to get ready.

"Yeah."

"Thank you." Sam said. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"Yeah, you could've. But you're welcome." John said. "Let's get ready."

John never got to find out exactly what it was they did that day. Because in the next second, he was lying in a strange bed with a pounding headache. It looked familiar to him, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly where he was. Finally, he noticed the duffel bag on the table next to the bed. A note, a note he'd seen before. He got up, picked it up, and gasped. It was the same note Dean had left for him the day he'd woken up and found himself in this mess.

Had it all been just a dream?

Afraid to hope so, but afraid also to not find out, John walked slowly through the hallway and towards the kitchen. He saw Dean sitting at the table, newspaper in his hand, and a familiar head of shaggy brown hair working on a bowl of cereal.

"Sammy?"


	9. Chapter 9

"Sammy?"

Sam heard his father call him and clenched his teeth together. The fight from the night before was still fresh in his mind. He knew it would piss his dad off, but he didn't care. He'd decided that morning that he'd go for a policy of passive aggressiveness. It would cause the maximum frustration for John while technically following his orders.

"Sammy."

Sam turned when he heard his father's voice. There was no anger, no frustration, no disappointment in it. There was only amazement. When he saw John's face, Sam immediately forgot the anger he was trying to hold on to. Tears were shimmering in John's eyes.

"Dad? Are you okay?"

Sam had seen things well beyond his years. It took a lot to surprise him. But when John rushed to Sam, pulled him out of the chair, and grabbed him into a tight bear hug, Sam thought the world was finally coming to an end.

"Dad? What's going on?" Sam asked.

"I'm just glad to see you."

"See me? You saw me last night." Sam said. "Dad, come on. You're suffocating me."

"Sorry." John released Sam from the hug but kept a hand on his shoulder. "Sit down. I want to talk to you."

"Yes, sir." Sam said.

"Sam, I want you to listen to me. I need to say some things and I want you to let me get them out. Okay?"

Sam nodded solemnly, and John could see in his face something that he couldn't quite identify right away. When he realized what it was, it hurt. Hurt to his core. It was resignation. Sam was resigned to the fact that life would never get better than it was. At fifteen, his hope was draining. He was trying desperately to hold onto it, but it was draining a little more each day. _Break the cycle,_ John thought to himself. After pinching himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming again, John prepared to do the only thing that scared him. Talk to Sam.

"Sam, I'm sorry. I know you hate this life, and I don't blame you. I'm sorry every single day that I dragged you into it."

"Dad…" Sam said, shocked by John's candidness.

"Please, Sam, just let me get this out." John said. "I'm sorry. You deserve so much better than all this. And I wish I could give it to you. But I can't." John was surprised how emotional this was making him. Emotional and John Winchester weren't exactly synonyms. "I know you feel like I don't appreciate or understand you. And I get why you think that. But I want you to understand something. There is no way that your brother and I would be able to do what we do if it weren't for you."

Sam's mouth was moving, and sound was coming out, but he couldn't say anything.

"You don't believe me, do you?" John asked with a smile. "Dean, am I wrong?"

"No, sir. You're not." Dean said. He looked just as shocked as Sam, but he was happy.

"Guys..."

"Not quite done yet, Sam." John said, fighting to keep only a miniscule amount of his usually stern authority in his voice. "Like I said, I don't blame you for wanting out of this life. But I do appreciate everything you do for me and your brother. I need you to be patient with me at first, but I will do my best to tell you that a lot more often."

"Thanks, Dad." Sam said. "That means a lot."

"There's more." John said. "The reason I kept such a tight leash on you was because I was scared."

"I know Dad. Scared that something would happen to me."

"No. Well, yes, but that's not the entire reason. I know this sounds stupid, and it probably is, but the reason I never really let you do anything was because I was scared to let you do anything normal. I was scared that if I let you have too much of a normal life that you'd just get attached to it and want more. And I just couldn't stand the thought of letting you have a slice of normal and then taking it away from you." John grew frustrated; he knew his explanation made zero sense. "I know that probably doesn't make any sense, but my point is this. It was selfish of me to take opportunities like that away from you. We could have made some of them work, but I didn't try. So I want to make a deal with you. We can't stop hunting, Sam. We're just too deep in it at this point. You realize that, right?"

"Yeah, Dad. I do." Sam said quietly.

"I want you to promise me that you'll keep doing what you're doing now. You'll keep researching to the best of your ability, and keep trying as hard as you can on training."

"In return for…?" Sam asked.

"Two things. Like I said, I'll do my best to tell you more often the good things you're doing. Try to recognize all the good stuff instead of just the bad."

Sam nodded. "What's the second?"

"I can't promise you'll be able to do everything you want to do, but when you want to do normal stuff, I'll listen. Field trips, sleepovers, parties, whatever. I'll listen, and if there's any way possible to let you do it, I'll let you do it. Do we have a deal?"

"Christo." John heard whispered behind him.

John laughed. "I'm not possessed, Dean."

"Then where is this coming from?" Dean asked. "No offense, Dad, but I think hell's frozen over."

John laughed again, a sound that was a foreign one in their family. "You might be right, Dean."

"Do you mean it, Dad?" Sam asked. "All of it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, buddy, I do. You work with me, I'll work with you. Do we have a deal?"

"You bet we do." Sam said with a teeth flashing smile.

"Where's the Thanksgiving stuff?"

"I put it up like you told me." Sam said.

"Well, get it out. We got some work to do."

Sam's mouth dropped again. "You mean it?"

"Yep. I don't know how good a cook we are between the three of us, but I'm sure we can figure it out."

It was Sam's turn for the surprise hug. He launched himself over to John, wrapped his arms around his neck, and said, for the first time since he was a young child,

"You're the best, Dad. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"You're welcome. And I'm sorry again, Sam. I'll never stop being sorry for what this life has done to you." John said sincerely. "For what I've done to you."

"It…" Sam started to say, then decided not to. "You're trying to change it, Dad. I'm sorry too. I know I didn't make it easy for you."

John chuckled. "It's okay, son. Come on. We got work to do."

Sam and Dean worked on pulling out the food for Thanksgiving dinner. Dean got the idea to call Bobby over, and late that night they were enjoying their very own Thanksgiving feast. John thought about looking into the dream from the night before. He decided it could wait. He could research himself to find out whether witches could indeed work from the grave, but right now he had something more important to worry about. The dishes were in the sink, Dean and Bobby were on the couch on their way to a food induced coma, and Sam was finishing up with cleaning the table.

"Sam, if you want to go to bed, it's okay. We can wash the dishes tomorrow."

Sam started to take the offer, then had an idea. "Will you help me with 'em?"

"Sure. Come on." As John turned on the water, he looked at Sam again. "You know, you remind me a lot of your mom."

"I do?"

"Yeah. You do. She'd be really proud of you." John said.

"Dad? Can I ask for my first thing? It's okay to say no."

"What is it?"

"I know you don't like to, but…would you tell me about mom? What she was like?" Sam asked. "I just don't remember anything about her."

"I can do that." John said. "What do you want to know?"

An hour later, the dishes were washed and dried, Dean and Bobby were knocked out on the couch, and Sam felt like he had a much better picture of his mother than ever before. When he finally couldn't hold his eyes open anymore, Sam said,

"Goodnight, Dad. Thanks."

"Goodnight, Sam." John said. "Hey. I know I don't say this much, but I love you."

"I love you too, Dad."

When he was certain Sam was asleep, John went into the room he shared with Dean. He stood over Sam, watching him sleep for a few minutes, thinking to himself _you did it. You got Sam back._ It had been a long few months, but the journey had been worth it.

"Goodnight, son. I'm glad you're here."

 **A/N: Thanks a lot for all the support! This has been one of my most popular stories in a while. But it's not over yet! There's one more chapter coming. Stay tuned!**


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